Speculations
by Mondschaf
Summary: Lady Margolotta and Lord Vetinari's relationship turns out to be a bit more complex than it might seem at first glance. After all, they are politicians.
1. Prologue

Title: Speculations

Summary: Lady Margolotta and Lord Vetinari's relationship turns out to be a bit more complex than it might seem at first glance. After all, they are politicians. Set shortly after UA.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, as always. Special thanks go to the Vaudeville theatre for a stunning performance of Oscar Wilde's _An Ideal Husband, _which sparked the idea for this fic. Cheap In-Sovjet-Russia jokes belong to Yakov Smirnoff, as far as I'm informed. Oh, and the discworld belongs to Sir Terry.

Rating: T for minor suggestive themes and gross injuries.

Characters/Pairings: Margolotta/Vetinari, with a hint of Drumknott/Healstether. You know you want those Manila envelope references. Tons of cameos.

A/N: Reviews are my new favourite food, ever since I read that every bar of chocolate contained eight insect legs. Please don't let me starve.

* * *

There had been many speculations about Havelock Vetinari's relationship to Lady Margolotta.(1)

On the one hand, their relationship never seemed to be anything more than purely professional. Even the _Times _had not been able to detect anything more, and everyone knew that the _Times _found out everything eventually. Whenever Lady Margolotta was invited to dine at the Palace, or the rare occasions in which his Lordship decided to comply with her request and spend the evening at the Embassy – even then they sat at opposite ends of the long table, engaging in a conversation that was as much sporadic as it was laconic whenever it left the grounds of politics and entered deeper waters. They both sat in their own little private sphere, on the unspoken agreement that If You Don't Ask, I Won't. Even in the very rare case that there simply was nothing to say about politics – even then they would not exchange affectionate or loving glances or even engage in hanky-panky as many wished they would. No, they would much rather find out who could come up with the better In-Imperial-Uberwald-joke. As in: _In imperial Ubervald, hotel chooses _you. Or: _In imperial Ubervald, career chooses _you. The current record holder was Lady Margolotta, whose best so far was _In imperial Ubervald, manual writes _you.(2)

On the other hand – it just couldn't be _that simple. _No way. The rumours had to come from somewhere. It was a well-known fact that Vetinari had spent quite some time with her on his Grand Sneer, and you just didn't stay with such an attractive woman for six months and all you did was play Thud! in the evenings. Also, she was the only diplomat ever to receive invitations for private dinners with the Patrician – because, according to some, she was the only one who could juggle a whole country that was not even a country with nothing but her mind, and the Patrician knew talent when he saw it. That, so they claimed, was the reason why Queen Keli of Sto Lat or Duchess Susan or the royal couple from Lancre never got any invitations to the palace. Butall agreed that it could _just_ _not be that simple!_ With everyone else, yes, that might have been a valid explanation. But not with such a complex man as Lord Vetinari was.

The worst thing about their 'relationship' was that neither of them found the need to clear matters up. On the contrary; they seemed to encourage obscurity, and the more opinions swayed, the more they enjoyed themselves. Even the most outrageous articles about them in the glossy papers would never provoke even an unofficial statement – screaming captions such as _Vetinari and von Uberwald seen holding hands!, _when all that had happened was that one of the thousand paparazzi had caught the moment their elbows had accidentally brushed on camera, or _The Patrician's Dark Lady? _(3)_"We are friends," says Lady Margolotta, and blushes!,_ which was quite impossible since Lady Margolotta, being a vampire, had no blood to blush – even such _outrageous_ captions went with the notes _No comment, says the Palace!,_ and _Informant gone missing in Far Uberwald!_

And then there were the 'a friend of...' No one really knew who these friends were, but there always seemed to be someone who could tell about how they felt. Some speculated the 'friend' was Lady Sybil; others named Drumknott or even the librarian that travelled with her Ladyship. They always offered remarkable insights: _They hardly talk about each other!, so a friend, _and such.

In short, everyone was trying to join up the dots of their dot-dot-dot relationship, but since this was Ankh-Morpork, joining up three dots had more than one result. People insisted on adding dots until they resulted in something that satisfied them, like a dolphin, or a football. And why not? It was better than joining them up like any normal person would, because all you got then was a blank.

* * *

(1) For some, it already began with the question whether it was his Lordship's relationship _with _her, or rather _to _her. But those were the linguists, and everyone knew they were a bit, well, completely nuts.

(2) There's a reason why they are politicians and not comedians.

(3) None of the reporters had actually _read _Hwel's _Da__rk Lady _Sonnets and therefore none of them knew what they were alluding to; however, it had a nice, mysterious ring to it, and so they left it in.


	2. Chapter 1

William de Worde sighed and rested his head in his hands. It was bad enough that he had to take care of tomorrow's _society-_pages because Ophelia was sick; but what was worse, it had to be about _them_, didn't it. Of course no other couple could have done. Not von Lipwig, whose popularity rates were rocketing through the ceiling; not the 1001 conquests/scandals of Gravid Rust, even though he had repeatedly pointed out to the stubborn board how that would make a smashing headline; no, it had to be Vetinari's private life. But really – how on disc was he going to write an article – a _solidly _based article – on such a foundation? Yes, Ophelia did not seem to care about sources, but – rather exceptionally, for his profession – William strongly felt that he could not just make things up. She'd suggested some she considered to be reliable, but a glossy magazine was _not _a reliable source, no matter what teenagers these days told you. And the evident conclusion – that they really _were _nothing more than friends – whoever would want to read a full page of that? Imagine the headline: _Vetinari and Lady Margolotta – just friends, no benefits._ Perhaps, he thought with a sigh, he was just not made for this sort of journalism.

He opened the door and quietly called out to his wife, who was typing away on one of those incredibly modern hammer-thingies. They had been invented at the University, but, so the wizards claimed, were safe for daily use at home. Basically, they were like mini-presses, only a lot smaller; you pushed a square button showing the desired letter, and a tiny hammer would shoot forward and imprint the letter on the paper. They made one hell of a noise, and so William had to call out twice before Sacharissa noticed him.

"Apparently, it was Svjestkopje who sparked the 'Great Cheese War' by banning cheese imports from Fritzenstett because they had too many holes," she said as she entered his office, reading from a piece of paper in her hand. William hadn't noticed she now wore glasses to do so; it made her look even more attractive, in a very strict kind of way. "Seems that Genua supported the Cheese War with financial means, and for horrendous interest, of course. Uberwald didn't really like having a full-blown war in its front yard, and even less so as the germ of rebellion flew over to Uberwald and caused a bit of a sneeze. Although it seems that Lady Margolotta took it rather calmly. No one stayed long enough to be able to tell."

"I didn't know you were still researching the Cheese War. Isn't it a bit… yesterday's news?"

Sacharissa shrugged. "Probably is, yes. It was on my mind, though. I can't say why." She scrunched up her paper and grinned as she seemed to remember something. "How's the Vetinari/Margolotta article coming along?"

William glared at her, but only softly and lovingly, because he really didn't want to sleep on the couch tonight.

"I just don't get it," he admitted with a sigh. "There are so many pros, so many cons... I don't even know what to compare their relationship to, so little I know about them. And the Palace will not give an official statement..."

"I've always thought they were madly in love," said she, and quickly removed a cup of coffee from his desk to distract from her light blush. William stared.

"_Madly in love?_" he echoed. "How's that?"

"Well," she began slowly, "I think where everyone is going wrong is that they just can't accept that love isn't physical, but a state of mind. They think love is all about touching and feeling and _looking_ as if you were in love, but that's just everything around it, that's just there to tell everyone _else _that you're in love."

"But they hardly seem to like each other!" William said and felt sheepish – he was working on an article about the romance of two people, and it was only now that he discovered that they had always behaved as cordially as ice sculptures toward each other. Where, then, did those rumours _come _from?

"Of course not," Sacharissa said with pursed lips. William cowered. "That's because they are never actually left alone together. _You _can hardly admit we're married in front of a _dog._"

"I swear that dog talks," he mumbled, and asked aloud, "How do you mean, they're never left alone together? I could swear there was no one else in the room when that Mr Nutt and Miss Sugarbean came back after the... oh..."

"Exactly. They have read too many books to think no one is watching them. Besides, do you really think Vetinari would not know that you and Jeremy were hanging from the roof? Please. And that Ladyship had not heard you? She has the hearing of a bat. Which reminds me – Jeremy's at the _Dysc _for tonight's performance, he wants to include the review in the morning edition. He should be back around ten, so make sure you're home by twelve."

William thought about what Sacharissa had said, once she had left the room and began scolding someone who had typed on the presswriting the wrong way – as if there was a wrong way, anyway. He'd heard of mathematicians and alchemists who had fallen in love with each other simply by talking about arithmetic and acidic solutions for hours, and had lived the most melodramatic, but also the most boring romance you could possibly imagine.(1) Maybe it was the same with the two politicians – maybe they had talked about foreign affairs so long that they had fallen madly in love with each other, only that it was a different love than any of them knew. But who was he to judge?

Once again, William thanked any gods that would listen that they had given him such a wonderful wife.

* * *

Havelock Vetinari raised an eyebrow. As always, it had absolutely no effect on his interlocutor whatsoever – something that had never ceased to amaze him_._ "I do not like to think of dilettante theatre performances as 'charming,' Madam, but I trust that social convention is to describe tonight's show as, indeed, 'charming'."

Ladyship laughed. "How very socially correct of you to say so," she teased as they set to climb up the hill towards her lodgings. "But what about the evening, was that" – and here she mimicked his tone to a dot – "was that 'charming' in your personal opinion too or merely by social convention?"

"I might feel inclined to describe it as 'pleasant,' and if you hadn't flirted with the butler, it might even have been 'delightful'."

"For the last time, Havelock, I did not flirt with the butler," Ladyship said annoyed, rubbing her gloved hands to shy away the cold. The temperatures had fallen considerably in the course of the evening, and her thin gloves proved insufficient even for a vampire. "I can't help it if there are only so many ways I can ask for whipped cream, and believe you me, I chose the least offensive one. – But thank you anyway."

"Whatever for?"

"Well, even though you apparently didn't enjoy it, I had a wonderful evening, and I really appreciate it that you took me out," the vampire said and managed to sound the exact opposite of what she was trying to say. "And if you weren't such an arrogant bastard, I'd probably even invite you in for a cup of coffee, but since you are, I'm not going to."

"Probably for the better; I wouldn't want to come in for the world."

Lady Margolotta glared; but her expression softened somewhat when Vetinari smiled. It was an occurrence rare enough that anyone would have assigned special meaning to it.

"Will I see you tomorrow for dinner?" he asked, as casually as possible.

"I think I've seen rather enough of you for this visit, really."

"I'll send the coach for seven, then?"

"Half eight would be better."

"Alright."

"Alright."

They had come to a halt in front of the embassy's portal that swung open before them. There was a brief and uncomfortable silence in which it was determined that Lady Margolotta's shoes were cleaner than Lord Vetinari's.

"Are you sure you don't want to come in?" she asked after a while, still intently focusing on her shoes. "Queen Ptraci sends me a new brand of tea every month, and my Thud-board hasn't been played with in a while."(2)

"Well, if you're desperate..."

Lady Margolotta laughed and led him inside, complaining something about 'insolent boys'; the door fell shut behind them, shutting out the cold mist creeping up from the river.

Somewhere in the shadows, something moved.

* * *

(1) Which, nevertheless, someone thought worthy of recording. On 513 pages. In verse.

(2) I _dare _you to use that as a pick-up line at the next Discworld convention.


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N: Sorry for the delay; updates from now on should be regular. Also, I apologize for OOC'ness and unfunny footnotes. Anyway, enjoy and review.**

* * *

Miss Mina Healstether was not what you'd generally call an early riser. Mind you, during her time in Uberwald – the last, what, four or five years now – she had lived by the early to bed and early to rise-way of life. Not so much because it was her philosophy, but because there was simply nothing more to do after it got dark. Of course, she had her nightly meeting with Ladyship. But after that, there was not much to do, save for playing _Thud!_ with her Ladyship, and that was boring because Mina always lost after ten or so moves (1). But now, back in Ankh-Morpork, where there were so many _more _activities one could do after dark than before (2), she hardly ever got to bed before midnight, and almost never _out _of it before nine o'clock. Life here was _exciting._

That meant that it was around half past nine on a very sunny late-autumn morning that she sat down to have a small bread roll with some jam and butter, a two-minute-egg and, if she felt very excited, maybe a second cup of Earl-of-Ankh tea (3), accompanied by a thorough lecture of the _Times' society_-pages.

She ended up making a second pot of tea and _still _wanting more, so she rang for Igor and presented him with the article. His eyes bulged and very nearly popped out of his head, but he caught them in time before they could drop into Mina's cup like two peculiar pieces of sugar.

"Good godth, Mith Mina," he said, screwing them back in, and even through the three pairs of vocal chords which made it rather difficult to understand anything at all, Mina could hear that he was shocked.

"What shall I do? Surely you don't think I should show it to her, do you?"

"On the contrary, I think that would be the betht thing to do. A little horror in the morning, and the day can only get better after that, that'th what I thay."

Mina thought about it. "Oh, well; I suppose she would be rather mad at me if she found out that I had tried to keep it from her. Imagine going out in the street and all people laughing at you behind your back... Despicable enough as it is, but for a politician? Unthinkable." Mina shuddered. "Perhaps breaking it to her gently would be the best idea."

Igor skimmed the article again. "Do you think it'th true what they thay, Mith?"

Mina snorts. "Of course not! Granted, the _Times _are not usually known for distributing lies, but this is just plain absurd. Ladyship would never do that, and if she did – which she doesn't – she is far too" – Mina searched for words – "too cunning to let anyone ever find out."

Mina had decided to prepare a breakfast for Ladyship for three reasons – firstly, she doubted that Lady Margolotta would be going back to sleep after she'd read the article; secondly, she had the distinct feeling that she would want to bite something really bad; and thirdly, she would probably need the energy when she would be beating the crap out of the _Times _editor (4). And so Mina was balancing a tray carefully arranged with the finest silverware on her hand, the _Times _rolled up neatly beside it, and, because she was proper, a small vase with a late rose whose head had been snipped off, as she carefully cracked open the winged doors to Ladyship's chambers.

She had never had the opportunity (or rather, misfortune) to have to wake up a sleeping vampire, and she had been told that on the scale of horror, it was second only to finding the tips of all your pencils broken. It was because of this that she was mildly surprised in finding the embassy's master bedroom bright with golden sunshine lingering on the blue-and-gold wallpaper; on the empty armchair from which last night's dress had slipped to a disorderly pile on the floor; on the remainders of candles burnt down to nothing more than stubs – and, amidst it all, on Lady Margolotta lying on her chest in a tangled heap of silken sheets crumpled at her hips, playing with her hair with such a peaceful expression which, if Mina hadn't known that Ladyship would have protested most vigorously, she would have called 'transported'.

However, in all her surprise, she was quite certain that Ladyship did not normally sleep without clothes.

She coughed politely; Ladyship gave a start.

"Mina!" The vampire sat up abruptly, nearly forgetting to pull the sheets with her. If she'd had a beating heart, she probably would have blushed, but so she contented herself with doing something completely uncharacteristic – looking guilty. "I – I didn't hear you. May I inquire – ?"

Mina missed a beat in surprise; in all these years she had now worked for Ladyship, she had never, absolutely never, caught her off guard.

"Terribly sorry to, uh, interrupt anything, Madam, but there is an article in the _Times _I thought you should see. And I made you breakfast!" she quickly added, presenting the tray. It felt a bit like dangling a steak in front of a hungry lioness' nose.

"Show it here." Ladyship, having cleared her thoughts, brushed some tangled strands of hair from her face and took the paper from Mina and scanned the page as her librarian set to pour fresh rooster's blood into a tea cup (5), observing her mistress closely as she read the article. "Mhm," she said eventually and gave Mina a look that made her skin crawl, though it was not as nearly withering as usual. "I can see how this is, how should I say, shocking news, but clearly Lady Rodley breeding yet _again_ is not a reason to wake me up in the middle of the afternoon?"

"No, no, the one _beneath _that one."

"Oh." Ladyship took a sip from the cup Mina had handed her, but adorned the white paper with a spray of red blood when her eyes hit the headline.

"Great lord in hell!" she exclaimed, once she had recovered from her coughing fit. "They used _that _as _heading_?"

"I'm afraid a reporter must have seen you at the theatre yesterday," Mina said, diplomatically handing Ladyship a handkerchief while at the same time trying not to look at her, since she had completely forgotten about holding up the sheets. It probably was one of her lesser worries right now.

"Oh my... oh my!" the Countess continued murmuring to herself as she read the article, before she finally threw it down and hid her face in her hands. "This is a disaster, an utter disaster! How did they know this? How _could _they know this?"

"I don't know, Madam."

"I mean, I try so hard to... not to cause scandals. It's simply not an option, not in politics. I try so hard, we both do, and the only time we actually do something rash... something like _this _happens. It is a nightmare." She sighed. "Tell Anna to put out some clothes for me, will you? Preferably something that bears no resemblance whatsoever to what I wore yesterday evening."

Mina fought the urge to curtsy and instead picked up the tray. "Are you going out?"

"Oh, you're coming with me," she said, lying back down into the sheets. "We're going to the Palace."

* * *

"_Have _you read the papers?"

Vetinari froze, a rather seldom occurrence. "How did you get in here?"

"Oh please, like I could not get into your rooms if I really wanted to," Ladyship said, extracting a cigarette from her purse and slipping it into the holder. Miss Healstether was hovering insecurely in the background, glancing toward the door every now and then and looking thoroughly miserable. "_Answer the question_."

The Patrician hesitated. Though her voice was rather calm, he could tell that the Countess was rather... annoyed, to put it nicely; and your, uh, squeeze showing up at your workplace irritably slapping today's newspaper on your desk before you after you spent the night making what _you _thought was passionate love to her (6) was generally not a good sign. Judging by the blood on it, someone had already been beaten to death with it, and he was likely going to be the next victim.

"I have, indeed, skimmed the papers this morning," he ventured, carefully observing Lady Margolotta's expression as he screwed the cap onto his pen, "but I have not, er, perceived anything that would give occasion to undue excitement..."

"_Undue excitement?_" It seemed that he had bridged too far; Ladyship went off like a hand grenade you'd forgotten to throw. "Undue excitement? If this is what you call 'undue excitement', then what exactly is it you call 'due excitement'?"

"..._while_ of course, there is the possibility that I might have missed a headline," Vetinari only just managed to save his neck. "It's been known to happen, especially after sleepless nights."

Ladyship scowled, but ignored him. "Don't you read the _society-_pages?"

"The _society-_pages? With all due respect, Madam, how much time do you think I have?"

"Well, if you _had _read them, which you obviously have not, then you would know that there was an article about us in this morning's paper."

Vetinari picked up the paper with interest and began paging through it. "Oh, are they speculating again?"

"No; they have facts now." Margolotta inhaled deeply and blew a blue stream of smoke toward the ceiling. "Namely what we did last night after the theatre."

"Er, should I perhaps wait outside?" Mina interrupted, her face about as red as a beetroot. She regretted it almost immediately, since the two politicians' combined attention suddenly shifted. It felt a bit like being caught in the ray of a flamethrower, only more painful.

Vetinari narrowed his eyes, and Ladyship pursed her lips. "That would be an _excellent _idea," she agreed frostily. "Go play with – what is his name? – Havelock's secretary, at any rate. Rupus. Rebus. What do I care."

To do so, Mina didn't have to be told twice; she fled from the Oblong Office and slammed the door shut behind her. Rufus glanced up at her.

"So?"

"I fear it's true."

"Every last bit of it?"

"I believe so."

Drumknott gagged a bit. "My imagination fails me. To think that – " he broke off with a shudder.

Mina shuddered in sympathy. "I know exactly what you mean. It disgusts me to think of it."

"Do you think they… kissed?" Vetinari's secretary asked timidly and turned a bright crimson.

"It disgusts me to think of it, but I fear so." She hesitated. "Although… I must say I am happy for her; she always talks about him. When she can't decide over something, she always tries to think like him. Except, you know, when it comes to what to wear. She always says: 'Mina, he might be a very intelligent man, a magnificent mind, but a man who does not wear pastels? That man does not have any sense of fashion whatsoever.' And she gets so excited about Thursdays."

"Oh well; I suppose it was only a matter of time. I've always said – well, not said, per se, but _thought – _, his life might change for the better if he were to find a woman who could be persuaded to dress up with a pair of shiny black riding boots and a crop."

Miss Healstether looked appalled. "Now who would want to do that!"

"I know, right? Hey, you want to help me sharpen my pencils?" (7)

"Oh, I'd love to."

* * *

Back in the Oblong Office, Lady Margolotta rubbed her eyes, but in a way she could be sure would not smudge her mascara. The cigarette in her hand had gone out a while ago; only the twitching tip of her foot betrayed her inner state of turmoil.

"It's really not that bad, Margolotta," the Patrician said eventually over the tips of his steepled fingers. Margolotta shot him a cynical look, but he ignored it. "I mean, we could have been on the front page, but it appears we haven't even made the cartoon. To be quite honest, I'm a bit disappointed."

"Havelock, I don't think you are treating this with the suitable measure of seriousness! This is a scandal! I keep telling you to censor the press, but what do you do? Nothing! Why is it you don't listen to me?"

"Because it is nothing to get excited about! We are entitled to a private life just as much as anyone else is. And after all, what is it they are even saying? That yes, we went to the theatre, yes, I walked you home, yes, I stayed for a rather... extended game of _Thud!_, yes, I returned around dawn, so what? De Worde even had the self-preservation skills not to make it the central part of the article. It doesn't even _mention _that I spent the night, it's more... hinted at. I really don't see what you, or your secretary, for that matter, are so excited about. Besides, no one will even notice it – there has been gossip galore about us ever since you arrived. No one even reads these anymore."

"I suppose you don't object to them concluding that we are 'madly in love' either, then?" Margolotta demanded sarcastically.

"Should I?"

"Well..."

Vetinari got to his feet and rounded the table. Lady Margolotta looked at him half suspiciously, half expectantly as he took her hands. "They would have found out about it eventually anyway, Margolotta," he said. "I admit, yes, it is a bit... inconvenient for both of us that they have, but we can try to make the best of it."

"What do you think we should do?"

"What do you?"

Lady Margolotta thought about this. Her hands being held by his, even his presence in general, would have made it difficult for anyone to think strategically. "Denial and the attempt to keep it secret would probably just excite them more," she said eventually. "You think we should make it... public?"

"It certainly is an option. Of course it would upset numerous members of the local aristocracy and give Vimes a reason to arrest me for treason, but I look at it as a win-win-situation." He flashed a smile at her. "So what do you say? Dinner as we arranged, at the _Foie?_ I hear there will be dancing. You love dancing."

"Havelock, I really can't say that this is a smart – " She broke off as Vetinari tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "A smart..."

"Idea," he added helpfully, as he brushed her neck with his lips. "A smart idea."

"Hm." Lady Margolotta closed her eyes. "That's what it is. A smart idea."

* * *

"...personally, I prefer the nine millimetre-ones, you see, because they just look neater. The eleven millimetre-ones are so... crude."

"But you have to admit that the larger ones are advantageous when it comes to stapling more than ten pages?"

"Oh, no doubt. I'm just saying it's not all about the size."

Lord Downey, not a very serious man to begin with, had tried very hard not to laugh for the past half an hour he had been waiting, but this was just too much – he burst out laughing. The two secretaries looked at him, completely consternated. He quickly held up the magazine he was reading, or pretending to be. "I'm terribly sorry, this article is just _too_ amusing."

"_Stock markets in Genua in turmoil,_" Miss Healstether read out loud, and the look she exchanged with Drumknott clearly communicated her views on Lord Downey's sense of humour. "Perhaps I should read the _Financier _more often, considering I don't understand the fun in that."

"Yeah, don't worry about that," Downey said, still trying very hard to contain himself. "You're not missing anything, uh, big."

The three of them looked up as the door opened and admitted Lady Margolotta, backed by a rather smug Lord Vetinari. She put on a brilliant smile as she perceived him.

"Ah, Lord Downey," she purred. "It is always a pleasure to see you."

Downey jumped to his feet and bowed under Vetinari's vigilant glare. "Pleasure's all mine, Madam. May I inquire how – ?"

"Oh, they are in perfect health," Lady Margolotta cut him short in a peculiarly unfamiliar, dreamy tone. "Still only one shared brain cell, alas, but one cannot have everything. Yet I am led to believe that they keep you in fondest memory."

"I actually meant to inquire after _your _wellbeing, Madam."

"You did? Dear me. I must be feeling a bit... off today. Goodness. Perhaps I should be heading home. Come, Mina, let's go." She nodded to Downey, who bowed again and suppressed a smile as he noticed her fingers lingering on Vetinari's hand just a second too long before she turned and strolled out of the room, as far as it was possible for a lady of Lady Margolotta's rank to stroll out of a room. Downey followed Vetinari into his office, grinning insolently the entire time, where he threw himself on the chair opposite the Patrician's desk.

"Respect where respect is due."

For the first time in his life – or at least for the first time in Lord Downey's presence – Lord Vetinari looked puzzled. "You will forgive if I point out that that is an odd way to start a conversation."

Downey grinned. Having gone to school with the current Patrician came with few advantages, especially if you were the one to have bullied said Patrician. But some things never changed – perhaps, so he thought later, it was this that made him abandon all skills of self-preservation. "Come on, do you think I'm blind? I know that look on a woman's face, and I certainly know how it got there."

Vetinari took up a pen and began writing, perhaps a little too industriously. "I'm not sure I even know what you are referring to."

"Come _on, _it was all over the papers today! Don't you read the _society-_pages? 'My Thud-board has not been played with in a while'? _Please._ Even you can't pretend there's no innuendo in that one."

Vetinari stifled a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. "_Why _are you here, Downey?"

"Uh, for the same reason I come every Friday. Weekly meeting, remember?"

The Patrician blinked. "Ah. Of course." He held up a hand as Downey opened his mouth to give a detailed report of this week's occurrences. "Would you mind terribly if we skipped this one? I have some... urgent matters to attend to."

Downey's face fell. "What? But I was going to tell you how Miss Wiggs fell into Vimes' liquid manure pit _again_. It's like she never learns."

"And that, no doubt, was the highlight of the week," Vetinari said and rang the bell for Drumknott, who entered presently. "Drumknott, please show Lord Downey the door, and if you then could ask some Dark Clerks to come and see me; three of them, I think. I have a little... assignment for them. Good day, Lord Downey."

Downey looked at him, completely dumbfounded. "What, no 'don't let me detain you'? – Are you unwell?"

"I am in perfect health, thank you. I might even say I feel healthier than usual."

"What, no 'don't let me detain you'? It doesn't feel right. It will haunt me all day. You have to say it."

Vetinari blinked in what looked like confusion. "Don't let me detain you?"

Downey shook his head vehemently. "That doesn't sound right. You have to say it without the question mark at the end. And you did not do the eyebrow thing."

The Patrician leaned forward to steeple his fingers. A lonesome eyebrow wandered halfway up his forehead. The room temperature fell instantly, causing Downey to back off toward the door. Then, after what seemed like an eternity –

"Do not let me detain you."

Downey fled.

* * *

(1) And yes, it had been pointed out to her that there were more than ten dwarves on the board, thank you very much.

(2) The pencil museum was new open 24/8, due to popular demand.

(3) Please no silly jokes about tea bagging the Earl of Ankh, thank you.

(4 Or watching someone else do that for her. After all, she was a lady.

(5) Ladyship had laughed the first time Mina had served her a dead rooster for breakfast, and commented that although she enjoyed biting and sucking on things in the morning, roosters were not one of them, and suggested that the next time Mina might pour the blood into a teapot instead. Mina had yet to figure out why.

(6) Oh, whom was he kidding, it had been some pretty darn good sex.

(7) There you go, another great chat-up line! You're welcome.


	4. Chapter 3

**Enjoy, and don't forget to review.**

* * *

A dimly-lit room, pervaded by mists of blue smoke and wafts of murmured conversation; here and there, restrained laughter and clinking of glass above the crackling logs in the fire place.

"Some more wine, sir?"

Lord Brand brushed the servant with a glance and turned his attention back to the fire. "Has she arrived yet?"

"No, sir."

"Damn it. – That would be all, James."

Brand stared into the flames as James went off to offer finger food and expensive wine to the random bunch of people filling the room with their unimportant chatter. The lady was a genius, no doubt – hiding in plain sight, so to speak – but her ability to be punctual needed some major improvement.

"Lord Brand?" a velvety voice asked; he turned.

"Ah, Lady Marjorie," he said with a smirk. "Glad you finally made it."

"A lady is never on time, my lord," Lady Marjorie purred. "It might be a public scandal if she were. It means that she thinks too much of her natural looks."

"Which, in your case, would be completely justified," he said, and really meant it – the lady, although wearing a birdcage veil that seemed to play tricks with her features, was nothing short of a beauty. Pitch-black eyes with matching hair that cascaded in torrents over her shoulders, framed by a haughtily arched eyebrow hinted a mind that was as sharp as a razor. Her body, as far as his imagination could reconstruct it, was fashioned to match and enveloped by an exquisite gown of rich dark green that positively _screamed _the word 'traitor'. There was genius again – no one would _expect _a traitor to dress like a traitor. Brand loved it. "You said you had news?"

"Excellent news, my lord. We have found a point of leverage."

"Leverage, I like it," Brand said. "And that is? – Some wine?"

"Do you read the _Times?_" Lady Marjorie asked, taking the glass of wine from his hand.

"Sometimes. Why?"

"Do you read the _society-_pages?"

"Goodness, no. I find it so terribly tasteless how they write things in there which are actually true."

"In that case, you should," Lady Marjorie said with a sly smile. "In recent weeks, they have been positively stuffed with gossip about his Lordship's liaison with Lady Margolotta von Uberwald."

Brand looked at her as if she had just claimed the disc was a globe. "His Lordship has a liaison? I thought it was agreed that they were friends, and I already found that hard enough to believe."

"It seems they committed some sort of… indiscretion last night, although the particulars are unknown. It was even featured in today's section of _Things to talk about at boring dinner parties, _and has good chances of making the cartoon sometime soon. Something featuring her in a brimstoned-rubber-and-leather corset, I imagine, for a rather uninspired play on the word 'squeeze'." She took a sip from her glass, barely enough to wet her lips, and grimaced. Brand wondered whether it was because of the wine or because of the wording. "Terribly tasteless, as you said, but a wonderful point of leverage."

"Go on."

"The article – it's worth reading, believe me – was an attempt to illustrate and explain their relationship to people who actually think that liking each other – or acting as if – was essential to a love-based relationship, and basically concluded that they were, and here I quote, 'madly in love' with each other. Again, terribly tasteless, but nothing you wouldn't expect from journalists."

"'_Madly in love'?_" Brand echoed. "We're still talking about Vetinari, right? Tall, skinny bastard with the social skills and the emotional quotient of a stone?"

The lady laughed a silvery laugh. "The one. You see, the article argues that love is not a physical state, but a state of mind. Touching, feeling, caring... that is just a side-effect to tell everyone _else _you are in love. They do not need to tell anyone else, and so they simply don't."

The cogs and wheels in Brand's head began to turn. "So since it's impossible to access Vetinari directly, we could simply get our hands on this Lady Margolotta and blackmail him by holding her captive. Is that what you're trying to say?"

A nerve in Lady Marjorie's eye twitched. "Painfully simplified and with abominable phrasing, but yes. As chance will have it, she is in town for the next few days – negotiating for some trade agreement, they say – and I suggest we act quickly and smoothly."

Brand reflected, pacing up and down. Vetinari was a pest, of course, and he would do anything – anything at all – to take him down. But Lady Margolotta was an innocent bystander, not per se involved in what was happening – although, so he had heard, a major figurehead in the recent immigration tendencies from the hubward-turnwise countries. She, too, had to be eliminated. Everyone knew how women were – manipulative devils, and she would wrap her tentacles of control around the next patrician even tighter than around Vetinari. She would never be allowed to meet him.

Brand stopped his pacing and turned back to Lady Marjorie, who had been waiting patiently while murmuring softly to her Gooseberry(TM), which she now put away. Brand had the unpleasant feeling of being expected to perform some sort of trick any moment now. "The sooner we act, the better. Do you have any ideas?"

Lady Marjorie smirked and sat down in a chair by the fire, gesturing to Lord Brand to do the same. "I had hoped you would say that," she said, playing with strand of her black hair and letting it go when she realized she was doing so, "because I have taken the liberty of arranging a little… something."


End file.
